


These hearts, they burn (on and on)

by SmilinStar



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: 5x20-22, Comfort/Angst, Episode Related, F/M, Romance, post season 5 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her fingers run softly along the protruding veins and the gentleness of the touch is a soothing balm that takes him by surprise. She looks up at him then and the tears roll over her eyelashes and the voice that leaves her lips sounds so broken and desperate as she whispers, “Don't you dare Stefan Salvatore. Don't you dare flip that switch on me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	These hearts, they burn (on and on)

**Author's Note:**

> Never ever imagined I'd write something for TVD, but 5x17 set my Steroline heart all aflutter and I haven't been able to let them go. This switches POVs, starts from 5x20, and then I kind of just run with it from there.

_\-----_

_Where did that even come from?_

 

Elena's question has been rolling around in her head for hours.

 

She'd answered her then with an entirely honest _I have no idea_.

 

But now? Now, she's not sure that's the truth any longer.

 

A voice in her head bandies around a word beginning with the letter 'J', and it's such an ugly word that she dismisses it before she even lets the word fully form in her mind.

 

Concern. Now there was a word she could work with. A much more acceptable alternative. It had merely been born from concern for her closest friends. Yes, that was right. Concern for Elena, and her vulnerable heart, still bleeding over Damon. Concern for Stefan, who would only come out the other end hurt and broken all over again, leaving her to pick up the pieces.

 

They would simply be falling back into old habits, into what was comfortable and easy, but not necessarily the right thing for either of them. And as their best friend, it was her job to stop them from making these kinds of mistakes.

 

She thinks she does a decent enough job convincing herself of her own intentions, but then Elena's suspicious and disbelieving face floats across her visual field and all that's left is a single word flashing before her in neon shades of desperate and pathetic.

 

_Liar._

 

She was such a shameless, stinking liar.

 

She remembers Elena's face as she'd asked _Well, are you over it?_

She hadn't even hesitated when she'd answered with an emphatic _yes._

Because yes, she was over it. Whatever fleeting madness had taken over her and she'd let fester inside her for a few hours, was over. And you know what? She took it back. She was not a liar, because she really did have no idea what Elena was talking about.

 

And pfft, if anyone wanted to throw up a certain word beginning with the letter 'D' and ending in 'enial', she would simply look them blankly in the face and say, “I have no idea what you mean.”

 

As far as she was concerned, that had been an emotional blip on the radar and had long flashed out of existence.

 

Which is why it turns out to be a massive inconvenience when Stefan comes to find her standing next to the still burning fire and looks at her with that half amused, half affectionate smile.

 

“Never have I ever had a ghost try to burn me alive.”

Cute, she thinks as she cocks her head to side. “Drink.”

They share a smile and she stomps down hard on the flurry of unwanted butterflies trying to whip up a storm in her belly fast. Instead, she focuses on the sliver of hurt climbing its way up her throat, because after all, they were friends, right? It had nothing to do with jealousy or concern. At the end of the day, they were friends and that should _mean_ something.

 

And god help her. He breaks through her defences so easily with a smile and a casual,

“Well if it makes you feel any better, there are things that I tell you that I don't tell her.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like you have dirt on your cheek.”

He swipes his finger across said cheek, and she's powerless to stop the blush rising on her skin and the smile that graces her lips needs no thought.

 

Of course, that's not all. Because he's freakin' Stefan Salvatore, and he's got putting words together down to a fine art. He'd had nearly two centuries worth of practice so it really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but when he tells her so earnestly, as if he believed that it could ever be true,

 

_I didn't want you to think any less of me_

She can't help but give in and open the lid to that crate of butterflies in her stomach and let them flutter to their hearts content.

Damn it.

 

_Damn her undead, blood thirsty, pathetic soul to hell._

 

 

\-----

 

He doesn't really give it too much thought.

 

He's weak and hungry, drained in every sense of the word and Elena's not faring much better beside him, but his thoughts are stuck on Caroline.

There's just something so appealing about her brightness, her positivity at moments like this and he's drawn to it, to her, time and time again.

 

When Elena tells him that there wasn't a single person she'd wished was here more, he answers her with a half truth when he tells her that her control freakiness never really bugged him. Because yes, its true, but what he really meant to say was that yes, there really wasn't a single person he'd wished was here more than Caroline Forbes. She with her eternal optimism, delusional positivity and unicorns.

 

He misses her, and he's not quite sure when that happened.

 

When it was that she had wormed her way in, when it was that she had become so deeply entrenched in the quagmire that was his un-beating heart, full of pain, angst and cold fury. It was a bottomless pit for his demons, kept at bay only by fraying rope and eternal hope. Hope that both kept him pushing ahead but also teased and tortured, dragging him backwards through the mud on a whim, again and again.

 

He's a fucking mess.

 

And she's his double rainbow.

 

And he misses her.

 

“I do know this,” he says with a smile she would be proud of, “if Caroline Forbes was here right now, we would both be laughing.”

 

 

\-----

 

She senses it before it even happens.

 

The hairs on the back of her neck are standing to attention and the chill that runs through her tells her nothing good is going to come out of this confrontation. In fact, it is going to be bad. Apocalyptically bad.

 

In hindsight perhaps telling a slightly deranged Traveller in a Hybrid's body that he was not going to be seeing his wife again hadn't been the most brilliant, or tactful lead in. And yeesh, Stefan hadn't pulled any punches when he'd just come out and said it so matter of factly.

 

“She's dead.”

 

Talk about ripping off the band-aid.

 

She feels the tension rising with every furious word that leaves Tyler's, no Julian's, mouth.

 

She can sense his desperation, and she shares a knowing glance with Stefan as he tries his best to defuse the situation, but it's a battle he's losing and she knows what she has to do.

 

But she's too slow.

 

Too damn slow.

 

And then everything just happens in a blink of an eye and she's so utterly useless as she stands there on the side with her heart in her throat, hands over her mouth, completely frozen to the spot as time just seems to shudder to a stop.

 

_Oh my god._

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

 

_No, no, no, no, no,_ “No, no no.”

 

The words, “There dead doppelganger, stopped the spell,” barely registers and she doesn't even see him speed away.

 

Her eyes are on him, and him alone.

 

On his lifeless, unnaturally ashen face.

 

_He can't be,_ she tells herself.

 

_He's not. He's not dead. Oh my god. No, no, no, NO, he's not dead._

Sitting there with his head in her lap, his eyes not opening, his lips not laughing at her, she is helpless to stop the bubble of hysteria that bursts, and she can do nothing but scream and scream and scream.

 

Her pleas for help are endless.

 

Her prayers to whatever deity desperate.

 

Her tears never-ending.

 

_He's not dead,_ she says again, _he's not dead._

Almost as if she believes hard enough, it would become true.

 

She'd happily take denial now, she thinks with a wet, hysterical laugh.

 

But that wasn't the way the world worked.

 

Because the world hated Caroline Forbes.

 

And she hated it just as much.

 

\-----

 

Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt.

 

Not physically anyway.

 

It's all a rather big let down, considering this is 150 years overdue.

 

Bonnie's face is so sad and apologetic and he finds himself mourning over too many things, things he'll never get a chance to do or say. He doesn't let himself dwell on his depressed thoughts very long though as he's suddenly struck with the utter absurdity of his meandering thoughts. He can't help but laugh.

 

His chuckle has Bonnie looking at him strangely, but how can he explain?

 

Because, really, mourning over his own death? It is just so typical of his propensity for self-indulgence in all things overly serious and melancholy. Because, seriously?

 

And just like that the smile on his face is gone, because he can't help but imagine Caroline's voice as she echoes those two words.

 

And she's laughing at him with everything from her eyes, to the crinkles in the corners, to her upturned lips because here he is being Mr Broody McSerious-Vampire, even in death. And hell if that wasn't worth laughing at.

 

“Caroline,” he whispers.

 

There's a question in Bonnie's eyes as she stares up at him and he answers her with a simple, “She was there.”

 

And just like that understanding dawns.

 

“Go to her.”

 

_How?_

He doesn't even have to ask, as Bonnie just smiles softly, “You'll feel it.”

 

_You'll feel it._

He thinks on those words, but then he feels the pull. It's like someone's tied a rope to his rib cage and is yanking him towards his body – the remaining physical vestige he has to the other side.

 

He's not sure how much time has passed, but he must have been moping a good while because he doesn't find his body or Caroline where he'd left them.

 

He shouldn't be surprised but he can't help it as he realises she must have somehow carried his body back here.

 

His earlier thought that it didn't hurt, not physically anyway, is proven to be complete and utter bullshit the second his eyes land on her.

 

She is shaking with heart wrenching sobs, the tears are streaming down her face and have no inkling to slow down. She is hunched over, one hand curved around her stomach almost as if she's trying to hold herself together, the other still clutching his lifeless hand.

 

He feels it like a vice grip in his chest where his heart should be.

 

He desperately wants to go to her, replace that shell of his hand with the ghost of it and squeeze back – let her know that he's standing right there and that he's holding on to the faith that Bonnie will find another way to make this right.

 

But for whatever reason he can't quite grasp, he can't move from his spot.

 

He feels frozen and not in control and he thinks it's The Other Side's sick, twisted joke that forces him to stand there and helplessly watch on as his best friend falls apart in front of him.

 

When Damon and Elena come rushing in not a few minutes later, the expression on his older brother's face feels like a thousand wooden splinters piercing his skin, and it's enough for him to almost want to just let go and let it be over with.

 

But it's Caroline's broken voice as she says with mounting hysteria, “Tell me she can bring him back!” that has him reeling back from his desperate thoughts and stomps all over the millisecond of doubt he'd had.

 

He _had_ to get back.

 

Screw the malevolent blackhole entity sucking everyone into the unknown. He was getting back to them.

 

If a tiny voice in his head crosses out the _them_ and replaces it with a _her_ , he ignores it altogether.

 

\-----

 

Caroline has always been about focus and organisation and planning and getting the job done. But this isn't some annual Mystic Falls Gala that needs her meticulous attention or some charity fund-raiser or themed dance. This is something far more important and doesn't even come close for comparison, and the intensity she puts into getting him back is testament to that.

 

She doesn't even think twice about snapping Luke's neck. All she sees is motivation, a means to an end, a sure fire way to ensure cooperation and increase their chances of successfully reversing the current _state_ Stefan was in, because as she had to keep telling herself over and over, Stefan _wasn't dead._

He was simply in a temporary state of being and they were going to bring him back, because there was absolutely no other option. No question of failing, failing him.

 

And so she hardens herself, doesn't really let herself think too much about anything else.

 

When the time comes, when Liv's chanting of the spell is near complete and Bonnie has done her bit on The Other Side, she finds herself trembling with the anxiety.

 

It's a constant stream of thoughts of nothing but _where is he? Where is he? Where is he?_

When Enzo walks past with a wink and a “See you around gorgeous,” she doesn't even have the presence of mind to glare in his direction and threaten to wipe that stupid, flirty smirk right off his face.

 

She doesn't really get to think on it too long though as Tyler comes through next. There's a moment when she flashes back to his hateful snarl, and his hand glistening with Stefan's blood but she shakes that image away, because her gut is telling her _it's Tyler._

And when he answers her question with a bright smile and a “Yeah, it's me,” the relief breaks out in a smile.

 

The implications he's no longer a Hybrid is something she can think on later but she has other things weighing on her mind.

 

Elena coming through next lightens the load a little, but the tears staining her cheeks, and the anguish in her eyes stirs up a blind panic as she looks around and frantically asks who they're missing and “Where's Stefan?”

 

A question she's no longer able to hold on to.

 

It's almost as if he'd been waiting for her to ask it aloud, as he chooses that moment to appear.

 

The sheer magnitude of the relief she feels is inexplicable, and she thinks the only reason she hasn't burst into tears at the sight of him, standing there, alive and in technicolor and not that horrible stomach churning grey, is simply because she's running on fumes. Running on empty at this point, and she has nothing left to give.

 

It may also have a lot to do with his horror-stricken face as he whispers, “No, no, no,” and she feels the utter devastation rolling off Elena beside her and remembers.

 

_Damon._

 

He hadn't made it back.

 

\-----

The days that follow morph into weeks, into three months and it all just melds into one endless stream of _nothing._

 

Losing Lexi all over again hits him hard. Especially considering he made his peace with her death a long time ago. But the hope of her returning, coming back into his life had been dangled in front of him just long enough. Like a fool he'd given in and grabbed at it. Let himself believe in the possibility.

 

But now? Now she's well and truly gone. There's no chance he'll see her again. And it hurts.

 

But if that hurts bad? Then losing Damon is the worst sort of pain imaginable.

 

He shuts down completely.

 

He is angry and numb and teetering a precipice he swore he would never fall over again. Caroline, for all her best efforts can do nothing to break down his walls. It's only when he pushes too far, very nearly gives in and sinks his teeth into the soft skin of the neck of a nameless, faceless innocent, blood pulsing around his lips, when he nearly gives in, ready to vanish into oblivion, does it end.

 

She's there in a blink of an eye pushing him away.

 

He bares his fangs, fury running through every vein that creases around his eyes and he doesn't even want to fight the instinct that wants to rip her apart.

 

But she doesn't blink.

 

Doesn't so much as flinch.

 

She compels the human to run away and turns on him.

 

There are tears in her eyes as she reaches forward with remarkably steady hands and cups his face. Her fingers run softly along the protruding veins and the gentleness of the touch is a soothing balm that takes him by surprise. The fangs recede and it's almost as if her fingers smooth out his skin and it has nothing to do with him. She looks up at him then and the tears roll over her eyelashes and the voice that leaves her lips sounds so broken and desperate as she whispers, “Don't you dare Stefan Salvatore. Don't you dare flip that switch on me.”

 

He sees it so clearly then. She's scared. So absolutely terrified and it cuts through his exterior as effectively as a newly sharpened blade.

 

He can't do it.

 

He just can't do it to her again.

 

And for the second time in his 150 years plus of existence does he fall apart in Caroline Forbes' arms.

 

It turns out to be the release he needed but hadn't realised he'd been waiting for.

 

Face buried in her neck, arms clutching at her side, she simply holds on tight and cries along with him. For his losses, for hers.

 

When they're both dried up and spent, and she uncurls herself from his arms, hands still entwined, neither one wanting to let go of the other quite yet, she looks down at her tear soaked jacket and looks back up at him with her face scrunched up in disgust and says with entirely disingenuous seriousness, “You are an ugly crier.”

 

He can't help it, he laughs.

 

When she replaces her mock “eww” face with a beautiful smile, he thinks one of the many scars on his heart just healed over.

 

\-----

 

Things come full circle when the 'J' word rears its ugly head again.

 

The difference this time being Caroline no longer has her head ten feet under the sand. Denial was pointless she'd realised. And so she'd learned to embrace the fact she was in love with her best friend.

 

Yes, she was in love.

 

With Stefan Salvatore.

 

And yes, she realised she was a complete and utter idiot for letting it happen.

 

For so many reasons, it was a terrible idea.

 

Her head knew that very well. Her heart just couldn't care less.

 

And so while she might have accepted the whole horrible truth, denial just got swamped under a whole pile of _ignore, ignore, ignore_ , and her own special dosing of Forbes' reality.

 

And it went as follows:

 

Stefan will always love Elena.

 

Elena and Stefan equals _Epic Love._

Caroline _is not_ Elena.

 

Ergo, Caroline and Stefan? Epic Love?

 

_Never gonna happen._

 

She knows this. Knows it so well, which is why it irritates the hell out of her when she walks in on them a few weeks later, practically sitting on top of each other, a glass of bourbon hanging from Stefans' fingers, his other hand on her shoulder, a bright smile on his face and laughter spilling from both their lips.

 

And she still feels it like a thousand stakes through her chest, even though she should know better.

 

They don't notice her.

 

She tries not to just blurt out a very visceral “ouch” and instead opts for saying, “Well you guys look like you're having fun.”

 

She can't help the clipped tone of her words, and knows she has an ugly scowl on her face. Try as she might though, she can do nothing to pull the edges of her lips up into a lie.

 

“Caroline,” Elena says with a smile, and she thinks she sees a little guilt there too but maybe she's just imagining it, “We were wondering where you'd gone.”

 

She so badly wants to call her on it. Its hard to imagine anyone could think of anything else when staring into those beautifully green Salvatore eyes, but she manages to hold it back and instead says, “Our fridge needed re-stocking. Scored us about two dozen bags of B+.”

 

“Your favourite,” Stefan says with a smile, entirely sincere, and it just drives her frustration, because _damn him_. He just makes it so hard for her to be angry at him.

 

“Ha ha, very funny,” she says, because positive is not how she'd describe herself right now, even if being chippy, 'always see the bright side of life' cheerleader Caroline was her modus operandi.

 

“It's late,” Elena says, standing up, stretching her arms up over her head, and doing a very good fake yawn, “I think I'm going to head to bed.”

 

Caroline keeps her mouth pursed as Stefan smiles his “Good night.”

 

Elena squeezes her shoulder on the way out and she does her best to keep her claws retracted.

 

Because, seriously? She really needs to get a grip.

 

Elena and Stefan? Epic Love. Can't fight it. Just accept it. And let it _go._

Except. _Except . . ._

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“Like what?” he asks, faking innocence, but with a smile on his face that's making her shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

“Like you really want to laugh at me.”

 

“And why would I want to laugh at you?”

 

And she really wants to punch that smirk off his face. Oh but who was she kidding? She really wants to kiss it off, but either way that smirk was unfair and the bastard knew it.

 

“Oh Caroline,” he says on an exhale.

 

Those butterflies? Yep, remember those? They were back with a vengeance.

 

“There's nothing going on between us.”

 

She opens and closes her mouth and fumbles with her sentence, “I never, I never said-”

 

“You didn't have to.”

 

_I can read you like an open book,_ he probably should have added, she thinks.

 

“Elena has her moments, and I guess tonight was one of those where she was just really missing Damon. We talked, reminisced, that's it.”

 

She nods, “That's good, I'm glad you two can talk like that.”

 

He looks away then, and the smile loses some of its brightness and she can't help but feel a little colder.

 

“She really loved him.”

 

She wants to go to him, pull him into a fierce hug, be there for him, but she finds she just can't any more and so she stays rooted to her spot by the door. Every time she comforts him, every time she tries to mend his heart, he breaks hers just that little bit more and she thinks tonight just might be it. It might just be where he finally grinds what's left of her heart to dust.

 

“She really loved you too.”

 

He looks back up at her from where he's sitting, his eyes intensely focussed on her as he says, “I know.”

 

She swallows, not really sure what else there is to say, but he's still looking at her with those eyes and she can't look away.

 

She watches as he gets up, dropping his still half full glass on the coffee table without even sparing it a glance.

 

He tilts his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth starts to lift into a wistful smile, “To quote a certain blonde best friend of mine, we were _epic._ ”

 

She feels a slight unease roiling around in the pit of her stomach with that word. It's ridiculous she knows, but she's left wondering if one of the super-powered vampire skills he possesses is _reading her mind,_ because, well, _shit._

Except of course, she knows she's being stupid.

 

And yet, she has barely said two words and he's treading down uncomfortably close territory without any prompting.

 

His eyes are still on her and there's something different about them. Something she can't quite peg, but it's giving those damn butterflies a new lease on life.

 

He takes a few steps closer to her as he speaks again, “Although to quote another one of my blonde best friends, contrary to popular belief, you can have more than one.”

 

He stops right in front of her.

 

So close, she can feel the heat and intensity rolling off of him.

 

Her mouth has gone dry, and she can barely pry her own lips apart to ask, “More than one what?”

 

He grins at her, and the fire in his eyes burns just a little brighter as he says, “Epic love.”

 

She swallows again, before licking her lips in an entirely subconscious move to moisten her dry lips. His eyes follow the motion and her stomach swoops.

 

“That's good to know,” she says.

 

“Yes it is.”

 

He reaches forwards then and tucks an errant curl of hair back behind her ear, his hand lingering.

 

She can't help it as she bursts out, “Are you drunk?”

 

He laughs, and she feels it down to her toes.

 

“No I'm not.”

 

“Oh,” is all she can manage.

 

He brushes a thumb across her cheek and smiles down at her, “Good night Caroline.”

 

He is so close, a few centimetres more and his lips would be on hers, but he moves away in a blink of an eye and she can't help the disappointment as she whispers back, “Good night.”

 

She watches him leave completely bewildered, not sure about what has just happened, about anything at all. But then he stops at the foot of the stairs and turns back to look at her.

 

There's a soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes and then she realises just what was so different about them all night.

 

Oh, she thinks.

_Oh._

 

\-----

He finally kisses her on a Tuesday afternoon.

 

Its warm and sunny, just like her.

 

Her smile is bright, beautiful, hair loose and free, flying around her shoulders as she spins and dances straight into his arms.

 

She's perfect.

 

And somewhere, out there, he knows Lexi is watching on.

Entirely smug. Entirely happy.

 

He raises an imaginary glass and thinks, _here's to you._

****

 

**End.**

 

 

 

 


End file.
